


laundry day.

by rachelbee



Series: Weekly Challenge [5]
Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, all I do is write, so this happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 16:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10540527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachelbee/pseuds/rachelbee
Summary: Written for week five of officerparker's weekly challenge on tumblr. Lucy and Wyatt realize they have similar taste in clothing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> These prompts are ridiculously fun, and if you have a feeling you might want to write for them, you definitely should! This one kind of just came to me and might be a bit jumpy; it made sense in my head. Let me know what you think!

Wyatt started it.

It had been a few weeks since Lucy had essentially moved in with him, and they were folding laundry while a James Bond movie played on the TV. Wyatt, only half paying attention, was helping her fold all of her button-up shirts that she wore back when her only profession was teaching.

He chuckled suddenly, and Lucy raised an eyebrow, curious as to what was so funny. He glanced up at her, nodding at the shirt in his hands. “You have a lot of plaid shirts, Luce,” he teased, gesturing to the small pile that had accrued in the laundry basket. “I can’t tell which of these are yours and which are mine.” Lucy rolled her eyes, yanking her shirt out from his hand, folding it neatly and placing it in her pile.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to tell once mine are folded and neatly put away and yours are crumpled up and tossed in your drawer,” Lucy mumbled as she picked up a pair of jeans and began meticulously folding them. Wyatt feigned offense, frowning deeply at her and placing a hand over his heart.

“I am military,” he huffed. “My clothes are folded more neatly than yours.” Lucy shrugged, knowing he was probably right. “Anyway, we can fold the rest later. If I know Emma, she’ll be up at the crack of dawn, heading out to wreck history.” He nodded toward Lucy’s room. “You should get some rest.” Lucy frowned.

“Why do I need to get some rest?” she asked. “Why me specifically?” Wyatt cocked an eyebrow at her.

“You finished all the coffee this morning, and I’ve seen you half-asleep with no caffeine. You’ll need all the rest you can get to make it to Mason alive,” Wyatt teased, taking the shirt she was folding from her hands and dropping it into the laundry basket. “Come on, Luce, get some sleep.”

Lucy sighed, but relented, whispering goodnight as she made her way to her room, already stifling a yawn.

* * *

Wyatt Logan was psychic. Or, psychotic. Lucy decided he might have been a bit of both.

Like clockwork, Lucy had only been asleep for three hours at most when Wyatt gently shook her shoulder, mumbling sleepily about Emma. Lucy wordlessly shuffled into the living room in her tank top and sweatpants, grabbing her favorite shirt from the pile of unfolded laundry and slipping it on. She met Wyatt at the door, her eyes still half-shut as he helped her into her coat and she slipped her shoes on.

They were out the door and on their way to Mason in under five minutes; they’d become semi-professional at this in the past few weeks.

Lucy was only half awake for the brief from Agent Christopher, and Wyatt had skipped the brief in favor of searching for coffee for him and Lucy to inhale before they left. She heard something about 1912 and a Rittenhouse founder’s relative and was quickly shooed away to change.

Rufus and Jiya were snickering as Lucy yawned, running a hand through her hair. She pushed her sleeve back up, wondering why it was so loose. She must have stretched it somehow, she realized, and began to roll up the sleeves, cuffing them at her elbows.

“Here,” Wyatt yawned, pushing a hot paper cup toward her as he shuffled next to her, breathing in his own cup of coffee as she rifled through the racks of clothing. “I’m not saying chug it, but we do still have to get changed.” He glanced up at her, lightly blowing on his coffee. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“1912,” Lucy mumbled as she gratefully took a sip of her coffee.

 _Ahh_.

She was almost completely awake, now. She began reiterating to Wyatt what Agent Christopher had said, as Rufus and Jiya continued to watch them, both wearing matching smirks. Lucy ignored them, focusing only on her coffee and telling Wyatt about the mission at hand. Once she was halfway done with her coffee and feeling much more awake, she pulled an outfit from the racks, telling both men that they should get changed.

Rufus followed after her and Wyatt, chuckling as he caught up to her just outside of her changing room.

“Luce, whose shirt is that?” Rufus asked, nodding at Lucy’s top. She turned, frowning.

“What do you mean?” she asked, glancing down. “It’s mi-”

Oh.

It wasn’t hers.

She didn’t recognize this shirt at all. It was a dark green plaid shirt, flannel, just like her personal favorite. This one was much too long, though, which would explain the sleeves being too loose earlier. The pattern was darker as well, with navy and gray instead of the light blue and silver in her favorite shirt. She didn’t know whose shirt this was.

Wyatt cleared his throat, and she glanced up, noticing his cheeks were suddenly redder than usual. “That’s, uh, my shirt,” he mumbled, not taking his eyes off of the shirt. Lucy felt her face flush with embarrassment as she realized what Rufus thought.

“Oh,” Lucy squeaked, turning back to Rufus. “I must have grabbed his shirt instead of mine. I just grabbed from the pile of laundry,” she explained as Rufus smirked, nodding slowly. “We didn’t finish folding the laundry last night, and I just assumed it was my shirt on top.”

“Okay,” Rufus said, grinning like the Cheshire cat as he turned and escaped into the men’s changing room. Lucy sighed, turning back to Wyatt, who still hadn’t taken his eyes off of the shirt.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly, noticing Wyatt hadn’t really said anything. He glanced up at her and her breath caught as she realized how dark his eyes were.

Wyatt nodded, wordlessly grabbing Lucy’s hand and pulling her into the women’s changing room. He closed the door, spinning Lucy around and pushing her up against it. Lucy squeaked in surprise as her back collided with the door, the sound tapering off as she noticed the almost primal look in Wyatt’s eyes.

“Wyatt,” she breathed as he stared at her, her heart pounding so hard in her chest she was afraid it would burst. “What are you doing?”

His response was to groan, so low she almost missed it, as he pressed his lips to hers. Her eyes slipped shut as his hand reached up to cradle her face, his thumb stroking her cheek, his other hand gripping her waist, bunching the fabric of his shirt in his fist. Lucy moaned softly and Wyatt groaned again, coaxing her mouth open with his own. She willingly obliged, her fingers migrating from gripping Wyatt’s shoulders to tangling themselves in his hair as their tongues tangled.

Wyatt pulled away all too soon, breathing heavily as he stared at Lucy. Lucy opened her eyes slowly, taking in how Wyatt looked. She wanted to remember him like this forever. Lust-blown eyes so dark she couldn’t see the telltale blue anymore, face flushed, lips slightly swollen from her. She’d done that, she realized with a hint of pride.

“You look  _really_  good in my shirt,” he groaned, pressing a quick kiss to her lips before pulling Lucy away from the door and ducking out of the changing room.

Lucy stayed with her back to the door, still catching her breath. If she was sleepy before, she was definitely wide awake now.

Wyatt had started it, she realized as she started changing into her outfit for 1912.

She only hoped he had the decency to finish it.


End file.
